All Our Little Dreams Have Run Dry
by frostedlemoncoward
Summary: So broken. Such shells of themselves. Breyton fic heavy on the angst, light on the names. Unbeta'd. Mention of Naley, Leyton, Brucas.
1. Made it to the water, waded in the lies

**Title**: All Our Little Dreams Have Run Dry

**Pairing**: Breyton

**Rating**: Uhm. M, I guess? I'm never good at this.

**Disclaimer**: Title is from Wilderness by Sleater Kinney. Don't own anything but the plot and idea of this.

**Summary**: So broken. Such shells of themselves.

**Spoilers/Warnings**: Sexual situations,f/f. Helluva lotta angst.

**Author's Notes**: No beta so all mistakes are mine.

-

It's one in the morning and you know you should be in bed. It's a school night and you have two tests tomorrow. You haven't studied for either, and you know you should. You won't, though.

She's late tonight you think to yourself. It's one ten and she's only just reaching the edge of your yard. Your breath hitches, just like it does every night. You wonder what kept her, if maybe she almost didn't come. She pauses at the end of the sidewalk. Your blinds are at the right angle, she can't see you. You know this, but still you worry that she can see you. You wouldn't be surprised if she knew you were there watching, you both always could read each other better than you could read yourselves.

She's at the steps now. You sigh. One thirty five. You wish you could see her now, try to decipher her thoughts, or at least watch her. She doesn't come in. You don't know what she does but the need to know is slowly burning your muscles, and you tense up. And then you think that maybe tonight's the night she'll come in. Doubtful, but hey, a girl can hope.

Three months, four days. This is how long you've known about her nightly visits. You'd developed insomnia, took to looking out the window. You were surprised to see her, nervous and scared. You didn't know how to deal with that, so you hid. She didn't come in. Didn't even knock. Just stood there for an hour, maybe longer before heading away. Every week night. Later or maybe not at all on the weekends. She still parties. Part of you wishes she didn't, but you understand why she does. Release and an attempt at feeling something akin to love, something to fill the void that you and Lucas created.

It's been months you think. Months of not speaking to each other, except on school projects using only short clipped sentences, polite but not friendly and the most basic and necessary words. Haley looks at you both, pained. She knows. Of course she knows. She might be the only one that understands this thing you have. This thing that was Brooke and Peyton, which should be BrookeandPeyton you think, but has ended up Brooke. And Peyton. Maybe. Or not at all. There should be more spaces in there you think, it's too close to be correct. You wonder when you started mapping this out and why you didn't start earlier, why you didn't think things through.

Two twelve. She's back in view.

Two twenty. End of the sidewalk. She's tense. You know she wants to turn back around. You can see it in how she holds her body, and you know that she won't. She's too stubborn and strong willed for that.

Two twenty nine. She's out of sight, heading somewhere, maybe back to her house. Maybe somewhere else.

Haley's tried talking to you, talking to her. It hasn't worked, at least not yet. Haley's cried and screamed, cajoled and begged but neither of you will budge. You try not to stare at her in school but you know she hasn't been eating as well, or sleeping. Haley tells you as much, even though you both knew you already knew. Brooke always had a better handle on make-up than you however and can hide the dark circles under her eyes. You wonder if her grades are slipping or better than ever. Yours are. Without her around you suddenly have all this time so you study and accomplish all these things you never thought you had the time to do. You have more artwork than you know what to do with. You don't sleep, and you don't eat well or often either for that matter. You've taken to morning runs that occur before any sane person would be up waiting until after she visits. You've also started going to the gym late in the afternoon while she's at practice. You try so hard to wear yourself out but you never quite make it.

You don't know any other way to deal, so you immerse yourself any distraction you can grasp, except for him. He tried for awhile, to fix things but you knew that things were so broken, that you were broken and couldn't handle having him around. He was a constant reminder of why she wasn't there and you couldn't handle that. You didn't even cry when you told him, though you'd spent the last few weeks crying over her every second you weren't in public, whether you were in school or not. You contemplated becoming best friends with Jack and Jose but you knew you would pass out and get sick and she wouldn't be there to take care of you, and you couldn't stomach that.

There wasn't a thing you could do that didn't have traces of her. No where to go, nothing to think or see that didn't have some sort of tangible or intangible connection to her. You'd never realized it before, how everything was always about her. Everything. Was. Always. About. Her. You just didn't know it then, she probably didn't either. You wonder if it was the same for her. She acts indifferent. Almost the same. Everyone knows, of course. Something changed, something was fundamentally broken between the both of you, but she puts on a good act. She glides by though, glosses over it, and no one pushes. No one except Haley.

You resist the urge to pick at Haley, to get her to give up all the information she has from her interactions. No, you wait patiently, silently until it drives Haley crazy and she just blurts it all out. It hurts. And you don't understand. She ended everything. She was so mad, so hurt and you don't understand why she's a shell of herself now, why she hasn't moved on. Haley understands, but you don't ask. That would give you too much hope, and you can't handle that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

You hear muted whispers, catch wisps of information. Something about a move. Something maybe scandalous, maybe insignificant. You can't tell yet. Maybe you'll ask Haley. Probably not. If it's important she'll tell you anyway. You wonder idly when Haley will get tired of this. Every day she's there. At least half an hour with both of you. Sometimes in complete silence, sometimes in rants, sometimes as a shoulder to cry on. Every day. She's there without fail, without regard to her husband, her job or her schoolwork. She's there. You appreciate this more than you can ever convey to her, yet you hate Haley just a little bit for it, cause it's not her. It's never her nowadays though. It hurts more everyday, and you wonder who the idiot that said time heals all wounds was cause he sure as hell got it wrong. It must have been a man, no woman would have been that stupid. But then again, you have been, haven't you?

You go for your run, trying to exhaust your thoughts and regrets. It never works, but sometimes, if you try hard enough, you fall asleep afterwards. Fitfully, and only for a few hours, but it saves your ass and you know it. A quick shower, a haphazard dangerous dash to school and a last minute slink into your seat. A new routine. You don't enjoy it, but the less time in a common space with her is better. Maybe. You aren't sure. At least at school you can see her, you know she's still alive. You don't have that on weekends.

Thursday. One twenty five. You start to panic. She's never been this late before. Maybe she's starting to get over it, over you.

One forty. You can't see her standing on your porch now, and you're breathing again.

Two forty five. The middle of your sidewalk. A pause. You can't help it. You run downstairs and pause at the door, looking through it, weighing the consequences in your mind.

She tenses, looks like she's ready to run and all of a sudden your door is open and you're running to her, calling her name.

"Please. Please god turn around. Please." You're begging. And on your knees. They'll hurt later but now you don't care.

You don't think she could be any more motionless.

"I'm sorry." You pour everything you have into those two words.

She takes a step away from you and your heartbreaks all over again. You're done not fighting, you're done dancing around this. You need her back.

"God please. I can't stand this anymore. It's killing me. Haley fights with me everyday just to get me to eat. I don't sleep. I haven't slept in fucking months because I miss you too much. I know I messed up. Believe me I do, but I can't do this anymore."

"I don't care." Her voice is so strained, so pained that you can't believe it. But there's emotion in it, and that's more than you've gotten from her in months.

"Please..." She turns suddenly, on her heels and you've never seen anyone more enraged and you're scared. You get up, backing up awkwardly as she advances. You hit the door frame, your breath whooshes out and you are surprised. You don't remember the steps.

"Don't you dare act like a victim!" She's vicious and hurt. God, she's so hurt. You're crying and the tears are stinging; you'd think you'd be used to them by now.

"I'm...I don't mean to. I know I'm not. I just..." You thought about how things would go if you ever got to talk to her again, but seeing her here, having her this close affects you too much and you can't think to save your life.

"You did this. You brought this on all of us."

"I know."

"So don't you dare act like this is anyone else's fault. Don't you dare try to make me feel bad for you."

It hurts. God, it hurts. Eyes closed, the images are burned into you now.

"I loved you. So much it hurt to breathe sometimes. I was too scared to tell you, and you were too self-absorbed and busy and dumb to notice. God, how did you not notice? It was always about you. Always. About. You. Everyone else knew, you know. Everyone. Except you." Swallowing, you can't think of a thing to say. Her fingers jabbed at each emphasis.

"I want to hate you. I want to hate you so bad, I want to wish you were dead. I can't. Lord knows I've tried. I miss you. I fucking miss you, even after what you did. I can't handle it. I can't want to touch you still. I can't." She's not looking at you now, and you don't know what to do. You're startled when she closes the small gap between the both of you far too fast. You can't breathe and it takes you a second to realize that's because she's kissing you and you're kissing her back.

She's pulling you into the house, twisting you around and you're stumbling in the dark. You've forgotten your house, she hasn't. She slams you into the wall next to a table. The door's shut and her hands are tugging at your clothes. She moves from your mouth to your neck and she is rough. This isn't the gentle girl you used to know, the one you fell in love with. This is the broken girl you've created and she's intoxicating. You moan and react and she is rougher still.

After, you're leaning against the wall for support, panting and amazed. She won't look at you, isn't touching you, and that hurts more than the sex you just had. She grabs your face quickly, kissing you forcefully before fleeing. You slump to the floor and sit there for what feels like forever before crawling to the couch and passing out.

You miss the first class or two. You aren't sure but you know by how bright the sun is that you missed something. Trudging upstairs you debate on whether or not you should even bother. You don't bother with a shower, just throw on whatever seems clean, brush your hair and head to school. You don't even register that a few more people than usual are looking at you. It's been months and they still stare at the both of you, trying to piece it together. Some will, to a degree but no one will get the whole story because neither of you have it either.

Haley drops her mouth open in a small "o" of surprise and pulls you into an empty classroom, staring at your neck. You look at her confused and ask her what's going on.

"What the hell happened to your neck?"

"What do you mean?"

She pulls out a mirror and you gasp in shock.

"We...we...talked. Sort of. And there was the door, and the wall and then she was gone and...I don't..." She doesn't press you for more information, just hands you make-up, and when she sees that your hands are too shaky to apply it, she does it for you.

"You'd better get to class."

"Yeah..."

School seems to last even longer than usual today. You think that you'll drink tonight as you clean the make-up off your neck and stare at it. She won't be by, so you might as well. You don't have any reason to stay sober. You feel like everywhere she touched you last night is burning and etched into your skin and your memory so deeply that it'll drive you crazy.

You're surprised that after half a bottle of liquor she's in your room. You don't have time to question whether or not she's a mirage because she's on you and clothes are disappearing rapidly and then as abruptly as she entered, she's dressed and gone, without a word.

You don't like this, not really. But it's something. It'll ruin you, but that's ok you think. It's something, after all and you can live with that.


	2. Something like a phenomena

-Note. Ok, so I'm going to be a huge pain in the ass with this writing thing. I decided to do alternating focuses cause...well. I can't help it. So, it's going to alternate between them and the second chapter is now the third. Sorry about that. The chapter title in this is from the Yeah Yeah Yeah's song, Phenomena, and the now third chapter title is from Placebo's song Pure Morning-

You like to think you have this all worked out. Not like it used to be, no. Never again, but something anyway.

You know something essential broke between both of you when lies rushed out of her mouth. Something snapped in her eyes and you knew. You knew before you felt the sting on your cheeks that this wasn't something that could ever be fixed. You weren't sure you wanted it to be fixed though. Maybe it was time to lay this to rest.

Lay it to rest. No, that's not right. You know it won't work either. You may be a cheerleader and bad at math, but you are by no means stupid. You know this won't end, that it can't end like this. You owe each other more than that, after all.

She doesn't know that after she left the house that you gave up, gave out. After five hours in the same position you cramped, after six you passed out. School didn't happen. You knew if you hadn't had such a small bladder you wouldn't have moved for another ten hours at least. She doesn't know you left. Or that you replay that night over and over in your head. You can't turn it off and it eats at you.

All the words were wrong. You know that now. You have no idea how this happened, again. Everything you both said you knew would make things worse. And they did, of course. No one knows her better than you. But she did the same you think. Part of you thinks that that's what you get for letting someone in, but you know better. You hope you do at least.

You think that that's what made this hurt the most for her. Peyton was never good at opening up to anyone, even before her mother died, and after...After she was worse, but you were there and you were in and you used it all against her. And for what? You've both lost everything now and you aren't sure if there's any way to get it, or something close to it back.

All you've got to go on now is heartbreak and loss. You've both stalled now. Maybe stalled isn't the right word you think. After all, there's something, some movement left in you both.

You're thinking of that fight again, what you did the next day, after you both said all those painful things. You crawled out of your room the next night, shuffled into some probably clean clothes and started shoving things into a duffel bag. Part of you knew that you'd regret packing like this, you'd forget something, but right then you didn't care. You just needed out. You grabbed your wallet, some credit cards and checks and you left.

You left. This thought gnaws at you when you walk down the halls, fighting to fake this, terrified of running into her by accident. You waver between anger so raging it pains you, and sorrow so deep you worry you'll drown. You didn't get very far, but it doesn't matter to you, it wouldn't to her either. You made it an hour away, before you pulled into a motel and checked in. It was sleazy and so far below you, but you couldn't go any further, and you sure as hell couldn't go back. You did eventually though. You don't know if she even knows, you both showed up at school the same day. Haley told you as much. Haley. God, you don't know you would have done without the girl. You love her, more than you thought you would, but she's no Peyton.

Every time you walk up to her door, the knowledge that you left weighs you down, even after everything she'd done, you'd left. You left. You aren't sure you could ever forgive yourself for that, or for any other time you hurt Peyton. You swore you never would, you swore you'd never leave, that you'd always have her back but obviously you haven't. You've broken all your promises and you can't imagine why she'd take you back, or why she's looked like such crap the last few weeks. No, that's not true. You know your Peyton, she's no better at forgiving herself than you are, she's harder on herself in fact, sometimes that shocks you, but you know it's true.

It's been three weeks since she opened her door and begged you. You show up every night now, rough and ready, biting her and trying to shove all of your emotions into her skin. It never works, it leaves you feeling hollow, even after she filled you up. It's something though. It'll ruin you both, and you know this, but it's something. And you can live with that. At least for a little while.


	3. And when she's pressed, she will undress

-Note. Ok, so I'm going to be a huge pain in the ass with this writing thing. I decided to do alternating focuses cause...well. I can't help it. So, it's going to alternate between them and the second chapter is now the third. Sorry about that. The chapter title in this is from Placebo's song Pure Morning-

"I'm done, Peyton." You look at her confused. It's one thirty eight in the morning, and she's shown up just like she has every night for the last few months. It's been a month since she finally made it through your door, and these are the first words she's spoken to you that have nothing to do with sex or classwork and you don't know what to make of them.

"I'm done with this. I'm done with running from this."

"What...what do you mean, Brooke?" You're scared, you're worried and you don't know what to do or how to react. She walks closer to you and backs you up against the door frame.

"This." She says right before kissing you, starting roughly but slowly becoming gentle and passionate.

"You hurt me. You hurt me bad. Some days I don't think I'll ever heal." You can't help the tears springing up, and you open your mouth to say something, anything. She shakes her head and puts her finger to your lips.

"Shh...you always find the wrong thing to say sweetie." She cracked a joke and a wisp of a smile. You think you might die. You're surprised when she pulls you in for a hug, and when she lets go, she's looking at you funny. You're confused until you realize you have a goofy grin plastered all over your face. Of course she'd look at you oddly.

"You...God, Brooke I've missed you. I'll never be able to apologize enough, never be able to show you, prove to you how much I regret what happened." She closes her eyes and nods.

"I know. And I didn't think I could forgive you. I'm still not sure I can. But we can't keep doing this." She grabs your hands and won't look at you.

"Brooke?" You feel like you're breaking all over again. You start to panic.

"Shh...Pey, it's ok." She wraps her hands around yours and pulls you to the bed. You tense, not sure what to expect, but she lays down and waits for you to fit yourself to her just like you have so many times before. You do. You close your eyes tightly and for a moment you can pretend everything's ok. Then the moment passes and you start sobbing. You don't realize for the first few seconds that you're begging her not to go, but the pleas keep tumbling out and you don't know how to stop.

If you could see her face, you could see her eyes are blurry with tears and that she's staring at that drawing of yours, the one that says "People Always Leave." She's there rubbing small circles into your back as you bawl in her arms and you think of how fucked up this is. You hurt her. You broke her, and she's here, holding you, fixing you. And you don't think you could be anymore disgusted with yourself. You force yourself to stop crying.

When you do, you pull away from her, and scoot to another part of the bed, focusing on your comforter.

"I don't deserve to have you in my life, Brooke Davis."

"No, no you don't. But I can't be anywhere else, P. Sawyer. And honestly, I don't deserve you either." You cringe when you hear her tone. She crawls over and pulls you to her again.

"Brooke..."

"I can't Peyton...I tried. God, I tried so fucking hard. I can't. I wanted to. I did everything I could. I ran away. I left. I left." You tense, and you realize that you hadn't really known that. You try and think of when this could have happened and you realize that it was probably soon after, when you had holed yourself up in your room and shut the world out completely.

"I left...after I promised I'd never leave. And the sick thing is, I feel like I betrayed you in the most fundamental way and that I can never be forgiven for it. I can't even be mad at you anymore. I can't hate you. And I can't stay away." You don't know what to say, so you stay silent.

"I'm not saying I forgive you. Or him. Or that I can let it go, or that we can move past that, or ever be fully ok again. But..." You pull away, sit up a little and look in her eyes, though you realize that it might not be the best idea, you need to see her eyes.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't. I spent months walking up to your door every night. I know you knew, and as much as I hoped you'd open that door one day, I was always so glad you didn't. I didn't know if I could handle it. I was so glad when you did though." You look at her guiltily.

"I wish I could take it back, take back all the times I hurt you, fix it all."

"I know. You can't. No one can." Her voice is hoarser than usual.

"God, Brooke, I'm so sorry." Her eyes shut tightly and she grabs your hand as she starts to cry. You reach out and pull her to you instinctively, not even thinking that she might not want it. She cries and you try your best to comfort her. Haley told you that she never really cried. A few tears, but she shut down. Haley couldn't make her open up.

After awhile you notice she's asleep and you groan as you shift your positions and curl up around her pulling up a blanket and hoping that when you wake up she won't be gone. You pull her closer and breathe in her scent deeply, smiling just a little for the first time in what feels like forever. It's something, and you think you can handle this. Maybe everything wasn't ruined.

-------------------------------

I wasn't planning on expanding on it. But I thought about it. It might work. I need to find a beta and figure out how to work this upload/manage fics thing. Sometimes the simplest concepts elude me. I'd forgotten how crack-like reviews are, so thank you all. I appreciate them more than you'll ever know. I haven't watched most of the last season, and I'm worried about my dialogue and characterization. I hope it, and I live up to expectations.


	4. Something like an astronoma

(although probably rather obvious, Haley focused here.)

This is starting to get to you. You've spent untold hours with both of them for the last few months, you've neglected everything that is yours and they're still stuck in the same damn rut. Neither one of them will break no matter what you do or threaten or plot to do. They're just walking around with such wounds that you wonder if it's possible they have a small black hole in them, sucking everything down and in. Brooke hides it best, she's had the most training. She's got the most riding on being able to fake it, so she does. Peyton just withdraws and Brooke isn't there to pull her out, and you don't know how to.

The boys don't understand you think. They're sitting around you apartment moping and trying to wrap their brains around this but they're going about it the wrong way. You want to slap them both.

"They're acting like Nate did when you left, Haley. It doesn't make any sense." You sigh and decide that enough was enough. You were done with Lucas Scott sitting on your couch moping his heart out onto your carpet, dragging your husband down with him. It was hard enough dealing with the girls.

"They're acting like Nate did when I left. They're acting like that, Luke because it's the same damn thing. Or worse!" You're frustrated and slamming boxes on the counter, you don't understand how he could be so stupid. He's looking at you and you want to scream at him. You've done so much screaming the last few months, at both of the girls, nothing you did has been able to break them and you're reaching the end of your patience, and so is Nathan.

"But..." He stops, trying to find the words, trying to make this all about him, again. God, you never noticed how self-centered this boy was growing up. You hope it's hormones and he knocks it off soon.

"They're in love with each other, man." Nathan speaks softly, his head resting against the couch, eyes shut. He's tired, and you think of how unfair this all has been on him. You've been with them, or preoccupied with them or homework for so long now. You close your eyes and breathe in. You miss him. You sleep in the same bed and you miss him, and you can only imagine how Brooke and Peyton feel. You can kind of understand why they're still apart but at the same time it frustrates you so much that you almost want to hit them, or something. You want your husband, your marriage back. You've both been through enough trouble.

"What? No. It's Brooke and Peyton. They aren't. They wouldn't." He's frantically grasping onto his denial, you know it'll hit soon though and you and Nate will pick up the pieces, just like you do for everyone else. You're glad you married him, glad you were able to bring out who he really was. He's a good man you think, even if you are a bad wife.

"You said it yourself, Luke. They're acting like I did. Brooke's drinking and throwing herself at all these guys, we can't keep her from them all. Peyton's shutting herself up in her house and neither of them are talking to anyone else. It's not you and Peyton, or you and Brooke. It's Brooke and Peyton."

"No. No." He stands up and gestures emphatically with his hand, pointing down, refusing to believe this. He storms out, slamming the door and you sigh. Walking over to your husband you sit on his lap and give him a soft kiss, an attempt at an apology. He opens his eyes and looks at you quizzically.

"I'm sorry." You rest your forehead against his and breathe him in. His hands come up and wrap around you and you kiss him again.

"I've missed you. I'm sorry I've been such a lousy wife lately." He smirks, in an almost infuriating way, letting you know he knows and agrees but loves you too much to say that you're right. God, you love this man.

"I love you." He smiles wider now and kisses you.

"I know." You laugh and smack his arm. There's a few more kisses, then an adjustment on the couch and then there's moans and love and you're safe again. You curl up to him and drift off to sleep, happier than you have been in awhile.

-

The next day at school you notice Peyton's missing. It's been awhile since she skipped, so you're worried. Nathan promised to let you know if he sees her. You're walking through the hall, noticing there were a few more whispers than normal, and you look up and see Peyton. Your mouth drops open slightly, and you pull her into an empty classroom. It took her a second to register that you were pulling her somewhere, she was so wrapped up in her head. You wonder what happened last night cause you already have a good idea of where her mind is, the same place it's always been. Brooke.

She's looking at you confused, trying to figure out why you pulled her away. You know that when you get her attention here, it makes it so much harder for her to pretend to function in school. You step closer and look at her, trying to figure out what happened.

"What the hell happened to your neck?" It just jumps out, and you notice she doesn't even react to your tone or language.

"What do you mean?" You sigh at her question, her confused expression and dig around in your purse for a mirror and give it to her, rolling your eyes when she gasps in shock and looks at you with panic in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and then pours it out, sort of.

"We...we...talked. Sort of. And there was the door, and the wall and then she was gone and...I don't..." You nod slightly and dig around again for some make-up so she can cover it up. She takes it, looking at you gratefully but her hands are shaking too much for it to do her any good. You take it back and make her sit on the edge of a desk and tilt her head and cover up the marks. You step back and look at her neck appraisingly. Brooke taught you well.

"You'd better get to class."

"Yeah..." She grabs her bag and walks off in that new walk that's encumbering her dwindling frame. The new walk pains you. So does Brooke's. You're kind of glad something happened though. It may not be the best thing, but it's something, and you can live with that for now.


	5. I’m just cold meat

"Eat." She's pushing a bowl of oatmeal towards you as she munches on some toast and reads the paper. She never really read the paper before. You look at her for a few more seconds before slowly eating the oatmeal. It's perfect. When you were eleven you both took to experimenting with your food, sometimes under the watchful eye of Brooke's maid, sometimes alone. A lot of the food you made was horrendous, but some of it was marvelous. Oatmeal was one of the marvelous things.

"Apparently Daddy has started having USA Today delivered to the house. Don't see why cause he's never there but whatever. This was on your front porch, thought I'd read it. Who knew they could actually put something interesting in one of these things?" She says this in a defensive way. You know people's perceptions of her bother her and you want to make her see that they're wrong. You don't know how to. She's flipping through the pages and wiping the crumbs off while you slowly eat the oatmeal. She hadn't left last night. She even waited till you kind of woke up to go to the bathroom and make breakfast. You had thought that you couldn't love her anymore, now you wonder how long you have until your heart explodes because it has no more room to love her.

"I was thinking we could go for a drive today, get out of town for awhile. Deal with this." You swallow and nod in agreement as she moves a glass of orange juice towards you. You sip it, delicately almost like it'll burn you. She glances up at you and down at your bowl.

"Eat. You look like you're about to get a gut from malnourishment. And you're about two sizes smaller than me now. I'm already too small to be healthy." Her voice is soft as she says the last part, and it breaks your heart a little to hear that pain.

"Brooke-" You start but she cuts you off.

"Eat." You sigh and keep eating your oatmeal, trying not to stare at her too much. You wonder if maybe this is a dream. The thought keeps bouncing around your brain and you push at it and it kicks back. You swallow another spoon of oatmeal and think that you couldn't fake this but that doubt still nags, so you reach over and grab her hand tentatively. She looks up at you confused, stares into your eyes and squeezes your hand. You breathe and she knows. She scoots her stool over and adjusts her paper so that you can hold her hand, and you both can finish what you were doing. She always knows, it's just how you two work.

When she sees that you've at least eaten most of the oatmeal she announces that she's going to take a shower. You nod and wait a few seconds before getting rid of the rest of the oatmeal and staring out the window, trying to digest it all.

She left. God, she left you think and you grip the sink. You can't stop the tears and you don't really try, you just turn around and slide to the floor. You cry until you hear the shower stop, and then you wash your face and pretend it didn't happen.

You wait a little while before running upstairs and slipping past her as she finishes getting dressed mumbling something about taking a shower. She looks surprised at your behavior but doesn't say anything. You lean against the bathroom door and try to breathe. You turn on the water so that it's at that place where it's almost too hot but not quite and you manage to strip before you start crying again. You tumble into the shower in this frantic motion and you sit down and cry while the water almost scalds you. She left. She left.

You hear her knock after a few moments, asking if you're ok, you take a deep breath before shouting that you were and then you scoot back a bit. She's here now though, doesn't that count for something? Even after all you did she's here and she wants to make things better. She came back. You try not to think of whether or not she'll leave, or want to again. You need to compose yourself, so you shower and breathe. You have no idea where she wants to go but you aren't worried. She'll be there, next to you and that's something you haven't had in awhile. Even if she yells and screams it's more than you had in awhile and maybe it's what you need to get past this and fix what went wrong.


End file.
